I laughed, buckled in, and enjoyed the smooth ride. Eyeing this wonderful, beautiful man who bought a new car because it was safer for me.
Things at the office were different, too. Micah made a point of checking on me. Smiling every time he saw me. It was really distracting, but I didn’t want to shoo him away. I loved that he was so open with his affection. I never had to wonder where I stood with him. It was freeing. So I shocked the heck out of myself by flirting with him.
It started small, an accidental brush of the hand when I passed him an invoice. Then I got a little more obvious, brushing my hand down his arm, touching him anytime I got the chance. I honestly didn’t know I had it in me. I don’t remember flirting with Brent, but I must have picked this up somewhere.
I kept waiting for Micah to break, or to pull away, but every single time I touched him, his eyes would heat and he’d smile so slowly that once I actually choked on my own spit.
That was embarrassing.
I didn’t realize how much I needed us to dance around each other. Touching, glancing, smiling. It was like a long, slow seduction. At work anyway.
At home, things cooled off. I don’t know how the man knows what I need before I do, but he does. It’s like a switch flips when we walk in the door of the condo. Sexy, smoldering Micah gets tucked away, and my friend Micah takes his place. I stop the flirting, and just…be. We cook…well I cook and try to teach Micah. We get a lot of takeout, and I finally kick his butt at Battleship. It’s so easy between us I have to pinch myself sometimes.
The only dark spot, really, has been the counseling. I found a great counselor, a survivor of domestic violence herself, and at my insistence we’ve been meeting three times a week either virtually or in-person.
It’s intensive, and exhausting, and some days I wish I wasn’t doing it. It’s easy to convince yourself you’re doing ok, until someone cracks your head open and forces you to spill all your deepest, darkest secrets. Being forced to examine your choices and reactions is hard. Trying to identify and undo all your programming is harder.
And then, there’s the homework. By week three, I’d been tasked with bringing myself to orgasm. I argued with her for fifteen minutes before grudgingly agreeing, not seeing the point. I want Micah to give me orgasms. I’m not interested in flying solo. But she said there’s no way I can be with a partner without understanding my own body’s wants and needs. I guess I kind of understood. I still didn’t like it though.
I ended up having to task Becca with getting me supplies, since I’m still hobbling around and Micah is my self-appointed chauffeur. But I should have known better. She ran amok in the adult store, bringing me a very heavy plastic bag. “I asked you to get me one vibrator,” I hiss at her, moving to push my bedroom door shut. Kade and Micah were in the kitchen unpacking the Chinese, while I had a nervous breakdown in my bedroom.
“I did get you a vibrator,” Becca hissed back. “But then I saw the butterfly thingy, then a couple of natural skin dildos…feel this. Come on, feel it.”
She grabs my hand, forcing it to the beige skinned monstrosity. “I don’t want to…oh, that’s weird. And kinda real? But for sure, weird.”
“Right!” she exclaims, happily tearing through the bag, tossing dildos and vibrators all over my bed.
I couldn’t look anyone in the eye that night. Thoughts of all the…equipment I’d shoved under my bed filled my brain. More than once Micah asked me if I was ok, my squeaked “yes” not at all reassuring him.
But what was I supposed to say? ‘No, I’m not alright. I have to go diddle myself tonight, and all the nights to follow, until I figure out what makes me orgasm. So that hopefully, one day really soon, I’ll be able to do all the things with you that I’ve dreamed of doing.’
Luckily, I’m a great student. So I read articles and books, even watched a video or two. And every night I experimented, eventually opening all the toys Becca bought me. And I learned what kind of touch I like, and what kind I don’t. I learned what fantasies turned me on, and which ones turned my stomach.
And I did it.
I had an orgasm.
It wasn’t really what I was expecting. The way the books and movies go on about it, I thought it would be…bigger I guess. But it felt nice. And I cried when it was over. Not fully understanding until then why I had to do this stupid assignment.
Because, maybe for the first time in my life, I felt like my body was mine.
Mine.
Not for God, or for my husband. It was mine, and everything it felt was mine too, good or bad. And I learned I can choose what to feel. If I don’t like something, I don’t do it again. And if I do? Well, I have every right to do more of it. I was feeling pretty darn proud of myself.
Until she gave me my next assignment, that is.
25
HOLLY
I’m in my favorite corner of the couch, idly flexing my ankles as I study Micah, slouched beside me. My ankle feels strong. All of me feels strong, actually. And I don’t have any excuses left.
“My counselor gave me homework. New homework,” I blurt.
Micah pauses the movie, not lifting his head from the back of the couch, but turning it to look at me. I love when he does this. It doesn’t matter what we’re watching, or how into it he is. If I speak, he always pauses and gives me his attention. Well, I usually love it. Except when I’m so freaking nervous.
“New?…What…old?” he asks with an arched brow.
